


Death Is Not The End

by Neetle_Teetle



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 08:09:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6974917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neetle_Teetle/pseuds/Neetle_Teetle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lexa is a ghost. She has been for as long as she can remember, and she has enjoyed her peace and quiet. That is until the Griffin family moves in to her once abandoned home. In the process of trying to learn how to cope with humans, Lexa learns of a plot against Clarke Griffin's life. As it turns out, Lexa is about the only person capable of saving her, and there hasn't been anything Lexa has dedicated herself more to, even if she doesn't quite understand why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Lexa glowered at the dozen or so mortals bustling this way and that, invading her home. She sat on a railing on the top floor that overlooked the entrance way, ethereal form steady. She watched as men and women in white and yellow hats ripped apart her floorboards. Most of the work way was filled with an immeasurable time’s worth of dust as everything she knew was disturbed. Lexa had been watching these people work for probably far too long, and yet she was still uncertain as to what, exactly, they were doing. She just knew it wasn’t something she appreciated very much. She happened to like her home empty, cobwebs and all. 

Longer than she could remember, Lexa had been in this house. It was not saying a lot, given she did not remember anything more than her being in this house. If she was being honest, she was not entirely convinced this truly was her house to begin with. Lexa had just found herself in this house. With her incorporeal form, she had just assumed she had died here at some point. She felt bonded to the house, and (presumably) dying within this house’s walls was a good enough reason, she supposed, to call it home. 

“What are you doing here? Why now?” she questioned the busy workers from her perch. She expected no answer, firstly because she was not within earshot, and secondly because no one usually answered. Perhaps the most important reason, though, would be she could not talk to the living. Even if she wanted to, there should not have been any here _to_ hear her. Sometimes, though, she was humoured and her queries were put to rest.

“They are commonly referred to as renovators. They are to make this home comfortable for mortal living. It would appear this home is for sale. Or, soon to be,” a familiar voice answered.

Lexa was beyond being surprised at the sudden appearance of the man next to her. Her gaze left the mortal workers to take in the familiar sight standing a respectful distance away. A man with a bald head and tattoos inked into the pale skin watched her with a neutral face. There was nothing particularly noteworthy to him. He was average in height and slim in build, face relaxed. He wore loose black robes, hiding how toned he was. Blue eyes regarded Lexa, unblinking, passively observing her. 

Titus was, besides the house, the only thing Lexa had any clear memory of. She was not certain what Titus was, despite the human appearance. He couldn’t be human. He could see and interact with her, as well as leave and come at will. No matter how many times she had asked, she could never get a clear answer on his origins. She had learned to give up, eventually. 

Titus was not a constant presence, unlike the house. He tended to appear when she needed answers to questions she could not find herself. Maybe it was her unconscious that called to him, or perhaps her distress at not having an answer. Maybe something different altogether. Whatever it was, Lexa was just glad he was here to clear up why the living were invading her space. She wasn’t sure how long she had been alone in this house, but she was certain it had to of been a very long time. Titus had been her only source for social interaction in all those years. She’d come to feel attached, after all this time. 

As it was, his response brought more questions than answers. 

“How are they going to sell it if I live here? They can not sell it if someone lives here.” Lexa turned back to the workers, “They should leave.” 

Titus sighed, eyeing the dead girl, all still with a neutral face, “You can not resist change. To do so would be to resist progression. Even if you do not understand time as mortals do, you must understand their need to move on. This house belongs to those who live, not dwell. The mortals have fair claim to this building. Even could they see and hear you, you are but a figment of the past. You have no substance to them.” 

Lexa frowned, the truth of it ringing all too clearly. She could do nothing to stop this. All she was capable of doing was watching. She watched as her old, wooden furniture was moved out through the front door. Watched as stoic faced paintings of unrecognizable people, all wavy-hair and sharp jawlines, were removed from her walls. Watched as they ripped her home away piece by piece, replacing all with unfamiliar objects. 

Lexa did not really have a sense of time. If she consciously focused on it, she could tell the difference between a minute and a day. Otherwise, she was at a loss for a proper counter. Still, sooner than she would have liked she found the humans moving in their own weird contraptions. The floors were finally changed out as well, and even Lexa had to admit they were impressively identical to the original. Titus continued to appear and disappear as he willed, chiming in answers when it suited him. Chairs and couches were brought in, and the kitchen completely redone. It was her home and yet it was not. 

“They can not be placing those, those things in here!” Lexa protested, arm stretched out toward a pair of metal boxes. One was already being carried down a set of hidden stairs to what Lexa knew to be the cellar by two men. Why would anyone put such ridiculous things into their home? It didn’t even fit the aesthetics of this house. 

“Laundry machines,” Titus offered as he appeared once more, hands folded into his robes, “Your days of board washing are long over. Mortals progress. Technology is no different.”

“Their sense of taste has regressed,” Lexa fired back, even as she eyed the remaining metal box curiously. A metal container that could magically wash clothing. It sounded like witchcraft to her.

The week that followed was a Godsend. After everything had been moved back in or replaced, there was a nice lull period Lexa had to herself. Everything had just started settling back into a proper routine when she heard it. The _click_. 

Lexa slowly got up from her perch on the window sill in one of the rooms upstairs. As much as she disliked all these strangers in her home, she couldn’t deny she found them interesting. Enough so that she spent most of her days looking out this window, waiting for one of them to walk by so she could silently judge them. Curiosity got the better of her once again, pulling her from her window, and she found herself on the railing overseeing the entrance way. 

A young woman was at the door, along with several leaves from the outdoors. Dirty blonde hair was pulled back into a messy bun, revealing impossibly sharp cheekbones. She hit the lights, taking the house in. Lexa watched, curious. The woman took a few steps, turning in circles as she did so. Lexa wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but she did find herself hoping this was the new owner. 

Lexa felt a pull. It was weird and she wasn’t certain she liked the feeling, but she felt a drawn to this woman. Like she was attached and an immediate sense of trust settled in. But Lexa had never met her in her life. Or, un-life. Whatever it may be called.

The woman, who Lexa decided to call Human One, continued on her walk through the home. Lexa leaned over the railing attempting to keep an eye on Human One. Unfortunately, Human One went a little too far and Lexa had no sense of balance. She toppled over the rail, more shocked that she even could fall to begin with than the fact she was suddenly on the ground floor. She supposed it was a good thing the woman could not see her, and that ghosts couldn't break bones. 

Quickly regaining herself, Lexa hurried toward the kitchen. Human One was going this way and that, either criticizing the cabinet choices or hunting for something very specific. She had a slight glare, arms crossed as she silently judged the cabinet doors. Lexa was inclined to join her in this, taking up the same pose next to Human One. There was definitely something off about it. The colour, maybe? Or perhaps it just wasn't the right wood any more. Whatever it was, both gave their own version of a huff and continued on. Human One tapped away with a stick at some sort of glass screen in her hand, shaking her head. 

This went on for a good hour, Lexa trailing behind as the woman tapped away at that infernal device in her hand. Whatever Human One was doing, Lexa was certain it was not something a new owner would be doing. She had to be of been there for a different reason. 

Lexa had never gone outside before. She had never really wanted to. She couldn’t feel the changes the seasons brought, and she wasn’t aware of a solid reason to be out there to begin with. Following Human One fixed that. Whatever the woman was looking for, Lexa wanted to know what it was. Leaves of various shades of yellow and orange fell around, blowing this way and that in the light wind. Lexa could not feel the wind, nor the leaves haphazardly flying through her.

Both ghost and human stopped at the sight of two cellar doors in the ground on the right side of the house. Lexa found herself huddling into herself, a feeling she would come to recongise as being ‘cold’ growing within her. She felt as though her spine had been replaced with ice, and Human One didn’t look much different. Lexa heard the woman exhale roughly, only then realising she had been standing for far longer than she had thought. Human One had already thrown the cellar door open, the device in her hand now emitting a bright light. Against her better judgement, Lexa followed down after her. 

“Hope you’re not still down here,” Human One muttered as she made her way down the steep stairs.

Lexa paused, curious. Who was she expecting to find down here? This place had been empty for years. There was no way anyone alive would be here. Unless the woman knew something she didn’t? Human One continued down the steps, light flashing this way and that. Mostly, it only revealed centuries of cobwebs and dust. Nothing was on the shelves. Whoever left this place last, they had taken everything with them.

Human One walked cautiously now, light pointed toward the far back corner of the room. Lexa tried to see what was there, but she found herself unwilling to move from the steps to get a better look. She felt cold and warm at the same time, a throat she didn’t know she had constricting. For the first time in her undead life, Lexa felt human. Fear and panic, the chill of life, it was all there. Other emotions she could neither begin to describe nor define rolled into the mix. Hesitantly, she took the final step on to the cellar ground.

The instant her foot hit he ground, Lexa felt an electric shock run through her. A gasp escaped, her hand flying to her abdomen, a sudden jolt of pain appearing as quickly as it left. Quickly, it was replaced by other jolts. One on her shoulder, another a suffocating pressure on her chest, what felt like a thousand sudden flares all over. Lexa felt terrified. Pain was something she had not felt for the longest time. She had forgotten what it was, truthfully, and now it was all she could feel.

Human One turned drastically, facing the dead girl. Lexa found herself squinting against the light, all feelings she had never considered possible before, her free arm raising to shield herself. 

“You’re _here?_ ” Human One sounded her disbelief, lowering her light. Lexa wasn’t sure what was more out of place: the fact Human One could see her, or the fact she seemed completely unperturbed.

Lexa tried to question, but she had no voice. She wasn’t even certain she had a throat any more. She was fairly certain she'd felt something blow it apart in the rolling pain at some point. How could this woman be looking for her? What was going on? Who was this woman? Why was she here?

Lexa felt two arms circle her, but she found no strength to resist. She was tugged away from the scene, moving swiftly. In the blink of an eye, she found herself outside the cellar. She felt normal again, save for the chill in her spine. If she could breathe, she was certain she would be gasping for breath. Thankfully, she just felt dead again. 

“It would be in your best interests to not return there,” a soft voice spoke from behind her. Lexa turned, finding a bearded man. He wore black militaristic clothing, watching her almost sadly. A gun was slung over his shoulder.

“Why? What was that? Who are you?” Lexa needed answers. Safely dead again, the ghost girl found no reason to fear the outcome.

“I am Marcus. I hold command over your fate in this world more than you know. I saved you from yourself back there. I urge you not to return. I can’t save you a second time,” the man replied, beginning to step back, “It is against my nature to allow you to suffer, but you have received more from my kind than you should, and time is something we do not have. I wish I could give you a proper answer. I’m sorry.” 

A curse quickly followed by a thud made Lexa turn to find Human One on the ground. If she could still see her, Human One made no indication of it. She didn’t matter for the moment, anyways. The pressing matter was Kane. 

But the man was gone, and with no trace to follow.


	2. Roommates

Lexa never went back to the cellar. No matter how much she tried to convince herself everything that transpired had been because of Human One, she knew deep down it was not. And she was in no rush to feel so...alive again. Truthfully, she was still freaked out from just the idea of being able to feel. It was a sensation she was not familiar with, and not all too keen to rediscover. It was terrifying, being able to feel. 

She had waited for Titus to appear, hoping he would have answers for her, but he never did. Apparently idle questions were enough to summon him, but a life crisis was not. Or maybe it was too much. Did other ghosts have these kinds of crises? Who decided ghosts were supposed to have afterlife crisis anyways? The thought of ghosts having one crisis, let alone multiple, was ridiculous even to Lexa. If she was inclined to believe what Marcus had told her, she was the only one experiencing this. Though no proof to support her feeling, she had a hunch second chances were not something most ghosts received. 

The ghost went back to curling on the window sill, looking out to a world she was not truly a part of. She watched as adults walked this way and that, heads down and weary looks permanently set. Children screaming, faces stretched wide with grins. Adolescents, curled into themselves. Each group seemed just as unattached from one another as Lexa was to the living. 

However long Lexa stayed on the sill for, it was not long enough. Human One returned eventually, but this time with others. She pointed out ‘vintage’ materials, making some offhand comment about the history of each item. Lexa came to understand ‘vintage’ was her old furniture refurbished. If this was considered a selling feature, she supposed she was inclined to the opinion that some mortals still had good taste.

Sometimes, Lexa would follow along on the house tour. She wouldn’t say she was particularly interested in anything Human One had to say about the place, though. Lexa was, after all, the original inhabitant as far as she was concerned. She knew more about this house than Human One ever would. But, there was quite a few additions and upgrade that held Lexa’s interest. 

The kitchen was the most unrecognizable. For the longest time, Lexa didn’t understand where the wood was put in to light this new stove. It wasn’t until a curious adolescent turned a knob and the front circle on the top glowed bright red that Lexa figured out no wood was needed. The same adolescent informed her the sink would turn on by tapping the spout. Drawers closed on their own now, and the table folded and unfolded to adjust to the desired size. At least the pantry was still ‘vintage.’ 

Supposedly, there was a laundry room equally refurbished downstairs. Lexa refused to follow down. The chances of whatever happened in the cellar happening again were too high for her tastes. While her sudden appearance might have kept anyone from buying the home, she was not sure it was worth it. Instead, she stayed at the top of the stairs, piecing together Human One’s speech of the downstairs from the tidbits she could overhear. It appeared it might be safe for Lexa to follow, given the outside cellar and the indoor cellar were separate. A door seemed to connect them together, judging from the banging sounds, but Lexa was not going to risk it.

Lexa had followed on these tours so many times she could recite the sales pitch for every room all on her own if she really wanted to. How this house was built in the mid eighteen hundreds, passed down from generation to generation. Apparently the previous owner had died a few years ago. With no heir to take the home, it had become government property. 

Lexa was not convinced that was true, considering there had not been a single living soul in this place prior to the renovations. Maybe the owner had a better home to live in, with all the fancy stuff at their disposal. Or maybe they knew someone had died here. The was something missing from every tour, Lexa had noticed. Either she had not really died here, no one knew, or they were keeping the fact hidden from potential buyers. 

Human One had been specifically looking for her, apparently, but still Lexa did not know the truth. Just because she had been looking for her didn’t mean Human One knew Lexa had died here. In fact, she had seemed quite surprised that it was here she’d been found. Lexa needed more information, either way. Something was not quite right, and if the answer could be found without her needing to return to the cellar, she would find it. 

Eventually Human One stopped parading other humans around. For a few days, Lexa had some peace and quiet. It gave her enough time to relax, but she knew it was the calm before the storm. If there was no one else coming through the doors, this place must have been sold. It was only a matter of time until her new roommates arrived. 

And come they did. Loud, obnoxious things. Lexa took up her second favourite spot on the upstairs railing, the loud bangs from car doors and subsequent yelled orders alerting her to their arrival. The first through the door was a man, carrying two boxes in one hand, keys in the other. Short blonde hair was pushed back by a pair of black sun glasses. Lexa caught sight of the tip of his tongue sticking out as he tried to keep the door open and precariously balance the boxes. Once he’d found a way to balance everything together, he started encouraging someone else to “come on in!” 

Next came a woman, nearly the exact opposite of the man. Long brown hair pinned back in a ponytail, not a single strand out of place. She had four bags hanging off her shoulder, and a suitcase in each hand trailing behind her. She had kept her sun glasses on, expression seeming stony. Lexa wasn’t all too certain she’d like this woman. 

Lastly, a blonde teenager wheeled her way in, carrying two boxes stacked on top of each other. She gave a look of complete disdain to, Lexa assumed, her father. The teenager had said something, one of the adults probably replying, but Lexa was too busy feeling like her entire being was being pulled toward the girl. She found herself unable to look away, a heart she was very certain she did not have threatening to burst out of her chest. 

Then, the girl looked directly at where Lexa was sitting. It was enough to make the ghost fall backwards off the railing, and fleeing to her room. Lexa realised how ridiculous that had been, safely curled into her sill. Whatever that connection had been, it couldn’t of allowed the girl to see her. It hadn’t felt like the cellar. This hadn’t been a physical grounding. This had been something different. Something that made her feel human without the physical pull. Something that, Lexa noted, turned the tables, and made the ghost scared for once.

But perhaps the real fear inducing thing was the ungodly amount of noise coming from the down stairs. Whatever was going on down there, it was more than Lexa was willing to deal with. Either some kind of big event was happening downstairs, the family was just generally loud, or something was in the process of being murdered. Whatever the answer, Lexa did not sign up for this and she was not going to try an include herself in it. An entire floor between her and them, and still the noise was barely muffled.

It was very late by the time the blonde teenager made her appearance once more. A light flicked on and brought Lexa’s attention to the daughter dragging several boxes into the room. The ghost blinked a few times wondering what the girl was doing in this room. Realisation dawned. She hadn’t thought ‘roommate’ was such a literal term. 

The teenager sighed as she walked over to the window, punching her hand right through Lexa’s face. The ghost, for the most part, did not react. Lexa had walked through several prospective buyers by accident. She’d always been aware if she concentrated hard enough she could pass through walls and the likes, but passing through people was something that happened unconsciously.

So, when Lexa’s new roommate started waving her arm all around literally in her face, Lexa looked to the high heavens for an answer as to what she did to deserve this.

“This will be _fun_ Clarke!” the teenager huffed to herself as she aggressively pulled the curtain in an attempt to close it, “This is an _adventure_ Clarke!” 

Clarke, Lexa assumed that was her name, was having a very difficult time with the curtains. Although Lexa felt nothing of the arm flailing around in her head, she was growing increasingly impatient with Clarke’s inability to unjam a curtain. 

“The rings are caught, Clarke,” Lexa offered to deaf ears.

Clarke continued to struggle for a few moments, a curse finding its way out at some point. 

Lexa rolled her eyes, “I wouldn’t do that.”

“There is nothing _fun_ or _adventurous_ about any of _this!_ ” Clarke laid emphasis to the words as she tugged the curtain harder. Much to both the girls’ surprise, the curtain finally moved, along with Clarke. As the curtain closed, Clarke fell with a curse, right through Lexa’s lap. Luckily the sill caught Clarke, saving her from any real damage. 

Lexa, to her credit, only blinked, a soft sigh leaving her. She looked at Clarke slowly picking herself up with a scowl. Lexa did warn her. 

Not ten minutes later, the living girl had flopped onto the bed with a groan, boxes and suitcases scattered in structured chaos. Lexa had watched in silence as each box had been dragged in, the need to assist the girl growing. For the longest time, Lexa was certain there was something wrong with her. It was driving her insane being in the same room as this blonde haired girl. She was itching to be closer and as far away as possible simultaneously. 

It didn’t take very long for Lexa to realise Clarke was fast asleep. Clarke hadn’t managed to change clothes, or even turn the light off, but the soft snoring was enough to clue the ghost in. Lexa had not accounted for being a caretaker to the living, yet she found herself wandering over to the light switch. 

Clarke could deal with changing on her own if she woke up, but the light was something Lexa could take care of. Besides, Clarke seemed to be exhausted enough she wouldn’t be able to recall if she had shut the light or not. It was the perfect chance for Lexa to test a theory, and maybe relieve some of her anxiousness. This counted as helping Clarke, right?

Lexa stretched her hand out, focusing completely on the switch. She willed herself to cross planes, trying to force her way into the physical world. She concentrated harder, finally breaking through. A smirk graced her features as she triumphantly switched the light off. Then, shefell back into her own plane, content with the knowledge she could interact with the physical world if she wished. 

Lexa decided her new roommates weren’t so bad. She could make some effort to live with them.


	3. Ghosts Aren't Real

Over the next few months, Lexa became well acquainted with the family. The mother, Abby, was a head surgeon and the reason for this entire move. She was not home often, and when she was, it was usually to sleep before the next shift. On the days she was home for longer than a few hours, she seemed to spend them more with Jake, the father, than Clarke. Lexa found her initial feeling toward Abby had been incorrect. It was not that she did not like Abby, but rather Abby had a very dominate personality.

Jake himself was director of engineering for some sort of space travel witchcraft organisation. NASA, Lexa was sure it had been called. He, too, was often not home. Lexa had come to understand he worked on a two weeks on, two weeks off basis.

Usually, that left Clarke home alone for the better part of the months. Lexa found Clarke to be almost boring. All the girl ever did when she was home was study or watch ‘TV.’ Another infernal device made by mortals. Still, Clarke went out often enough that Lexa didn’t really have an issue finding time to herself.

On the days that Clarke did stay in without parents home, she usually had her friends over. Raven and Octavia, both girls from her school, were even more of a headache than the Griffin family. Octavia, while someone Lexa could respect, did everything in extremes. Which was painful for all the girls to endure when Octavia was having a bad time, be it break-up or off day. Raven made sure you knew exactly what she was thought about any given subject, her voice raising any time opposition presented itself. When Octavia and Raven argued, Lexa wished she could be alive just so she could wish she was dead.

The ghost had found a way to work around their schedule. With Clarke out and the parents not home, Lexa was able to test out other theories. Once, she had accidentally permanently broken the television trying to poltergeist it. The good news was it worked: she successfully sent into a state of buzzing white noise and dancing black and white dots. The bad news was she felt absolutely terrible about it and trying to poltergeist more only fried the entirety of it. She refrained from playing with electronics again.

Just as she could cross to the physical plane, Lexa learned she could also bring the physical into her own. She wasn’t certain if it worked with humans, and she didn’t really want to find out, lest she be unable to return them, but small things like books and Clarke’s art supplies were easy to pull in.

For tonight, however, Lexa was sitting on the dinner table, idly listening to the conversation. Maybe she would pay more attention if she could actually speak with the mortals. Lexa only caught bits and pieces as she remembered to tune in. It was one of those rare times when all three of the Griffins were home, and the conversation was lively as ever.

The first few weeks, Lexa had absolutely hated dinner time. It was loud, and everyone was speaking and there was clattering and scraping and it was all just too much. Slowly, Lexa adjusted, the noise becoming commonplace. She learned to filter out the scraping and clattering, and eventually even most of the voices.

And then Clarke had a birthday party. An entire other hell in and of itself which Lexa was glad only happened once a year.

“...And that’s why Octavia is convinced there’s been a hundred murders in this house,” Clarke finished, exasperated, “Which,” she pointed her fork pointedly, “is ridiculous. First of all, who’s rich enough to own four houses in a backwater town like this? And even if that was true, how would no one find a bunch of bodies being moved around by an entire family? I don’t think a hundred ghosts could even fit in here.” Not unless they all squished very closely together.

Lexa wished she’d been paying more attention, the story catching her attention. There definitely was not one hundred ghosts in this house, but there was one. And murder is as good a reason to be here. Lexa wasn’t sure if she was buying the whole murder family thing, considering there was no secret tunnel or the likes to pull bodies through.

But it was something to think about.

“If you’re rich enough to buy four houses in the eighteen hundreds, I think you’re rich enough to pay people to look the other way,” Jake offered.

Abby gave him an imploring look, “Don’t humour this.”

“Abby, you’re going to offend our ghost friends.”

“Ghosts don’t exist, Dad,” Clarke rolled her eyes.

Lexa mirrored Clarke, the conversation quickly diverging into something she wasn’t interested in.

“You’re literally sleeping in the same room as one, Clarke,” she clicked the ‘k,’ more out of annoyance than anything else. This close to learning about the history of this house, and it ended in complete idiocy.

“Perhaps you were murdered here, after all,” Titus’ voice drowned out anything the living were saying, thankfully. Lexa spared him a glance, standing with his arms folded into his robes. He didn’t seem to care for the Griffin’s family conversation, disinterested gaze moving from them to Lexa.

“Is that a joke?”

“I did not mean it as such, but it may be. I do not think such things took place here. Are you disappointed?”

Lexa did not respond right away. She tilted her head to the side, bringing knees to her chest as her arms wrapped around them. Her brows twitched, biting her lip. Titus had a funny way of knowing her feelings. Even if she felt compelled to lie, she doubted it would work on him.

With a sigh and shrug she replied, “Yes, a little.” She glanced up to find Titus with a thin line for a mouth, as though she had given a wrong answer. She hastily continued on, “I mean only that it would be nice to know. It doesn’t matter,” she said more firmly. She unfolded herself, looking back to the family _still_ arguing about the validity of ghosts, “It’s a good thing, isn’t it? If I was murdered, I would have died before I was supposed to. Or am I wrong?”

“Assuming Fate did not wish for an early reaping, you are right,” Titus inclined his head, “The murdered are vengeful. You do not seem so.”

Lexa made a small sound of agreement, dwindling on the idea. She had no idea what happened. There was nothing for her to be vengeful over even had she wanted to be. She was dead, and this was her home. She knew living existed outside these walls, but she had never found it necessary to understand them. So many of them looked drained, as if they tired of living altogether. If they were just as dead as she was, how was she to find them interesting, let alone worth getting vengeful over?

This family seemed to be an exception to the whole ordeal, but they lived within these walls. Lexa had no reason to venture out with them. She was not even certain she could. She turned toward Titus, half of her wanting to ask if it was possible. The question caught in her throat when she found Titus’ unblinking gaze staring hard.

“You’re not convinced,” Lexa realised, “Just because I don’t seem vengeful, doesn’t mean I’m not.”

Titus maintained a neutral face, his voice staying monotone, “You have been piercing the veil at an alarming rate. You were angry when you found mortals in your home initially. I was—it is worrying. It is the most common sign of falling.”

Lexa paused, edging a little ways backwards, putting extra distance between herself and Titus. Even if it was only a few centimetres, it was enough. She could assume this ‘veil piercing’ was her ‘phasing,’ but she did not understand why it was such an issue. Was it something she was not supposed to do? Was there some sort of unwritten ghost law she had been blissfully unaware of all these years?

She watched Titus carefully, looking for any sort of indication of, well, anything, “Falling?”

Titus remained as he was, eery blue eyes staring. He took a deep breath, tone switching to something Lexa had dubbed ‘mentor mode.’

“A majority of spirits left roaming this world are those who have met untimely deaths. Some are as you have been, simply dwelling. Others become consumed with a need for vengeance or justice, a need to correct a wrong made against them. Some remain with malicious intents. They fall into mania,” here Titus’ features smoothed back into careful neutrality, “When this happens, they lose sense of self and their need consumes them. They tear through the veil frequently, forcing the living to see them and carry on what they can not. Harmless, essentially, for the most part, but no less worrying. There are, of course, always those who do learn how to pierce the veil deep enough to cause harm to mortals. You have been doing this often. I only wish to ascertain this was not what you were attempting, now that there are mortals to interact with.”

Lexa tilted her head, her own features pulling into a pensive frown. Maybe it was a very good thing she did not remember who she was. It never really bothered her, not knowing. It was an idle curiosity she had, if that. Something to ponder but otherwise inconsequential.

The fear was founded, she decided. If she was becoming a danger, it was best to be careful. Still, she felt that the accusation itself was unfounded. Titus knew her better than anyone. He should have known she was too passive to do much of anything, even if she did get a sudden urge for unadulterated vengeance. If it was common enough that it was a worry, and one big enough to force Titus’ appearance, she couldn’t hold it against him for wanting to make sure.

Lexa realised Titus was waiting for an answer, “Your fears are without reason. I have not been interacting with the mortals. I have been inspecting their belongings and familiarsing myself with their uses,” she clarified, “If I had been appearing before them, would they be having this conversation?” She motioned to the table, the conversation having escalated in volume.

Titus inclined his head, folding into himself, “I’m sorry for having doubted you.” His eyes remained settled on Lexa, unblinking as he faded away.

Lexa supposed that was all the man wanted. She was beginning to think it wasn’t herself that summoned Titus, but rather he came when he wanted to be with her. She just happened to always have some sort of question on hand when he did. It would explain why he didn’t show up after the cellar incident.

“Don’t you think if there was a ghost, or one hundred, whatever, they’d be messing with our stuff? Or trying to scare us off or something? It’s a lot of dead people for a pretty little house,” Clarke argued, hands on the table.

“Maybe they have. The TV was dead for a little bit, and my keys are never where I left them,” Jake pointed out, eyebrows raised.

“The TV was new. They break sometimes. It happens,” Abby sighed, head resting in her hand, “Your keys move because you never leave them in one place and the rest of us have to remember for you, never mind that hiding your keys when wanting to get rid of you makes no sense.”

“Oh my God, I can not do this anymore,” Clarke fell back against her chair, “There’s no such thing as ghosts! And even if there was, I think they’d be offended enough to leave by now.”

Lexa wished she could.

“Maybe--” Jake started.

“We’re _not_ doing this,” Clarke cut him off, giving a pointed look.

Jake held his hands up in surrender, “Alright, alright,” he laughed, Clarke’s grin following soon after, “How about your day, then?”

Abby looked as relieved as Lexa felt.

Lexa found herself staying, listening to Clarke talk. She never talked this much, and Lexa noted what a shame that was. Clarke’s hesitant little smile when she was unsure how to say something, the way her blue eyes lit up when it dawned she’d said the right thing, smile coming out fully and hands moving to emphasize the words, Lexa was feeling alive all over again.

For how drawn to Clarke she was, and for how close she always was, Lexa was finding she knew very little about her.

Maybe she ought to fix that.


	4. RIP

Lexa found her favourite times were when Clarke was left home alone. It was amazing what mortals did when they thought no one was looking. Usually Clarke was set to messing up Lexa’s room with even more art supplies, but sometimes Clarke took it to the kitchen table. Which gave her just enough room for wiggly soulful dancing in her spot as she sang to her art supplies about how much she hated art. That is, until Clarke got to a part of the project she enjoyed in which case she sang to them about how much she adored art. The in between stages were filled with words of encouragement.

Lexa had watched the project build from an empty cardboard box to a full scale diorama of a forest. Lexa had no idea what half the supplies had been, but she couldn’t say she wasn’t impressed with the outcome. There was an illusion of depth, varying depending on where Lexa was looking at it from. It seemed to move with her. It was like nothing she had ever seen before, and it was absolutely mesmerizing.

“Ugh, please stop looking at that like it’s anything worth looking at.”

Lexa spun, a new voice she was unfamiliar with breaking her trance with the art project.

A girl, someone who looked to be around Clarke’s age, stood there. She was small, average in build. Scars adorned her face, long dark hair pulled back in braids and flowing over he shoulders. Dark eyes bore into Lexa, distaste evident in the curl of her lip. Black furs blended into the black of her coat. Clawed gloves adorned her hands, playing with a sword. Belts wrapped around her waist, holding onto the blades wrapped around her thighs, also covered in black.

“Who are you?” Lexa asked, watching this newcomer warily.

The girl scoffed, thrusting her blade into its sheath, “It shouldn’t be who, but what. Stupid girl.” A hate Lexa didn’t feel she rightfully deserved was thrust her way, “I’m Ontari, and you’re not supposed to be here.”

“I live here. Where else am I supposed to be?”

Ontari’s sneer fell, a blinking confusion replacing it, “You’re just a Forgotten, then? Works fine for me. Out of my way. I have a soul to collect.”

Forgotten. Titus had mentioned that term once. He’d said it was a rude way of referring to the souls the reapers forgot or missed. The real reason ghosts were created. Lexa wasn’t sure of the specifics, but it was the only plausible reason for this Ontari to be here. Plausible, but there was a flaw to that reasoning.

Lexa moved between her and Clarke, taking a cautious step toward the black clad girl, “Clarke’s? Clarke’s still alive. Don’t reapers take the dead souls?”

Ontari barked a laugh, “A reaper? Did you die from a blow to the head? I’m here to collect, not guide. She’s marked for death. Now, move.”

“No.” Lexa glared.

“No?” Ontario snarled, “Who do you think you are? I will not be refused.”

Lexa stood up straighter, chin jutting out defiantly, “I am Lexa, and I am refusing you.”

“Lexa?” Ontari stopped, eyes glaring over the ghost, “No. No, no,” Ontari laughed, genuinely and with mirth, “Fate truly is a bitch, pulling this. You couldn’t save yourself, so you’re going to save her? Ridiculous.”

Lexa's brows twitched, head cocking to the side, "What?"

Ontari scoffed, looking away in complete disbelief, “She’s going to die. That’s all you need to know.” This was absolutely ridiculous. A Forgotten standing in her way, and a stupid one at that. It wasn't like she was talking in riddles. This Lexa should be able to understand. 

Lexa felt herself preparing to fight before she registered her movements, hands slowly turning into fists at her sides, “If she is to die, it is not here, and it is not now.”

“She is right, Ontari. You can not kill her. Not directly.”

Lexa recongised Marcus’s voice, silently relieved he was here. A brief glance over her shoulder showed the man was not far behind. Close enough to easily join the fight, if it was to escalate to that.

Ontari was less than pleased with his arrival, “And what’s there to stop me? If Fate wants her dead, I have every right to--”

“Fate does not want her dead.”

“You dare interrupt me?”

Marcus continued as though he hadn’t heard, “Her death is not written in stone, as you are well aware. You know better than anyone deaths are planned far in advance by Fate. This was an abrupt change, and if you did not have anything to do with it, I would advise you tell me now.”

“I don’t need to tell you anything,” Ontari spat, “Even if I did, why would I?”

“Because Clarke had a death in order. The way, the where, the why, it was all there. And now it is not. The only one who would benefit from an abrupt change is you. If this was an act by you, I am, by my rights, permitted to interfere directly, by any means necessary.”

Ontari rolled her eyes, “Then you must think me a fool. Why would I tell you something that could stop me, Marcus?”

Marcus shrugged, “I’m sure you could find a defensive argument for my intervening. One good enough to order my execution. You would be able to reign chaos unhindered until my replacement was made.”

Lexa interrupted, remembering she too had a voice, “Whatever your quarrel is, it doesn’t matter right now. If Clarke isn’t to die, then neither of you should be here.”

“She _is_ meant to die,” Ontari growled.

“She is _not_ ,” Marcus insisted.

“You are both correct,” Titus said.

Lexa whipped around, to where Titus was studying Clarke’s art project. Clarke herself was nowhere to be seen, however. Lexa just hoped she was alright, a panic rising in her chest. Had Clarke been taken away by some other whatever Titus was? Was she okay? Lexa could only hope, for now.

How long Titus himself had been here, Lexa was not certain. She could only sigh in relief that he was.

He finally turned to the group, hands clasped behind his back, “Her death is written, and it is not. She is to die, as all humans are, but there is nothing to say when or how. It could be now, and it could be a lifetime from now. We know nothing. Neither of you have right, given the circumstances. Whether this is Fate or not, we have no way of knowing. Fate does as Fate wills.”

Titus glared at both Marcus and Ontari, just daring them to refute his statement. Marcus inclined his head, indicating the man should continue. Even Ontari bit her tongue, and Lexa was fairly certain it was in a literal sense.

“I can not come and settle matters every time the two of you squabble, nor am I meant to. This, however, is a special matter. Clarke is an anomaly. Especially given...other circumstances,” he continued, looking at Lexa, “Ones that even Fate can not rip apart. I can not allow the two of you to fight for the claim over her death. I am invoking my rights and appointing a watcher.”

“Who? Her?” Ontari motioned to Lexa, moving to Titus with great stomps, “She isn’t even part of our order! You mock us!”

“If I were to mock you I would kill the girl myself.”

Lexa stared wide-eyed. The confession was not something she expected of Titus. She hadn't even been aware he was capable of killing. But she recognised the cue when it was given, shoving any conflicting thoughts down, “I’ll do it. I’ll watch her.”

“No, you won’t,” Ontari argued, “Forgotten can’t be watchers! She can’t even leave her own home.”

“She can,” Marcus responded softly, “All it takes is a unanimous consent, and she is free to do as she wishes.”

Ontari was nearly snarling audibly now. “Why would I give it?”

Marcus smoothed his uniform over, briefly looking at Lexa apologetically, “Agree to this, and I will not interfere with you on anything concerning Clarke’s life. I will leave it completely to Lexa’s abilities to keep her safe.”

Ontari raised her eyebrows, mirthlessly chuckling, “I can kill her and Clarke in the same instant if you’re giving that much leash to me.”

“I’m already dead. You can’t kill me.”

Ontari looked away, scoffing, arm tossing away her disbelief, “She doesn’t even know what she’s agreeing to. She’ll be dead before I even get a chance at her.”

“I am _right_ here, you can address me properly,” Lexa said in a tone that told everyone just how done she was with this. There was a lot of information to process, very little time to do so, and a thousand new questions to be answered. At the moment, Lexa wanted only the essentials.It was becoming increasingly frustrating being unable to ask anything directly. 

“Address you? You’re hardly worth it. You have, what? Five hundred years left until your energy is spent up? I’ll forget you by the time you catch up.”

“Ontari,” Marcus warned.

The girl in question glared back, “I’m right.”

The tension in the room was rising. Lexa was more surprised at the fact a brawl hadn’t broken out than anything else. Ontari and Marcus maintained their silent battle, staring right into each other, neither giving in. Lexa had no idea who was right, nor even completely certain why she was a subject of debate to begin with. All it really did was leave her confused and mildly offended.

Titus was looking at Lexa with something between regret and sorrow. He said nothing, his normally blank and passive gaze completely overridden. Frankly, that scared Lexa more than whatever Ontari was threatening her with. Nothing ever pulled emotions from Titus.

Lexa swallowed, her attention focusing solely on Titus, “Explain this to me. I want to protect Clarke, but I need to know what it means to do so.”

At once, both Ontari and Marcus focused their attention on Titus. The man, however, paid a mind only to Lexa.

“A unanimous vote from us will revert your passing onto this side of the veil. You will be as close to human as you can get. Had you been a recent death, you would be truly human. In this case, your energy will reform. For all intents and purposes, you will be considered human, though the touch of this side of the veil will linger on you. You will not need to eat, nor sleep. You have no need to recharge. You are pure energy, for a definition. But even pure energy runs out, at some point. You will not last forever. If you’re lucky, only for the month.”

“A month? Didn’t she just say I had years?”

Titus inclined his head, “On this side, yes. Energy works very differently for the dead. Existing in and of itself has very little energy consumption to begin with. It doesn’t need to provide anything for you. There is no flesh and blood to maintain, emotions to run. You're not even truly flesh should you cross over. Your energy only condenses, providing the illusion of a proper body. I need you to understand, Lexa, if you agree to this, you will not be returning here. You will go back to the cosmos, and Clarke will forget you.”

Ah. There it was. The catch. A month of keeping Clarke alive, and then she was gone. Asked to give up the comfort of her home, the proper order to things, her life in a sense, all to play the part in Titus’ plan. And there would be no proof she had ever been there. Nothing to show she had fought to save Clarke.

Lexa wasn't even all too certain why she needed to keep Clarke alive. Lexa herself was, after all, dead, and there was no downside to it that she could find. But something in her screamed to keep Clarke alive at all costs, and she was going to fight for that much.

“I don’t care. I want to keep her alive.”

“Then I vote toward ripping the veil,” Titus finally looked at his kin.

“I vote to rip the veil,” Marcus said without hesitation.

Ontari met everyone’s gaze. It was her vote that would decide. _As it should be_ , she thought. She lingered on Lexa, taking the girl in. She had no doubts about her commitment. Lexa looked like she very much intended to die trying, jaw set and eyes boring into her.

“Fine," Ontari conceded, matching Lexa's look, "I’ll have fun clawing you apart piece by piece. Let’s see how long you can keep this game up without Marcus to save you. I vote to rip the veil.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In light of how Lexa was handled in the show, I want only to reassure you there is a happy ending planned for this, despite the laws of energy consumption. I don't want to worry y'all. That is all :)


	5. Let's Go, Grandma

Lexa gasped, choking on air. She coughed, tears springing to and out her eyes. At some point, she realised she was laying on the kitchen floor. Still spluttering, she rolled onto side, gasping in breath. She could feel her chest expanding and contracting with each draw, a heart beating in rhythm with her frantic inhales.

Whatever she had been expecting, this hadn’t been it.

Lexa didn’t remember what had happened. The last thing she recalled was Ontari threatening her, and her being equally icy in return. Everything had gone bright, and then dark.

And then she was laying on the floor, very much alive.

Lexa slowly found her way to her feet, breathing slowly regulating as she learned how lungs worked. She stumbled the first few times, wondering how legs actually worked. Arms didn’t take very long to understand, as with hands. She had used those limbs often. Legs and feet on the other hand, not so much.

She quickly got the hang of it, eventually making it to the table. Clarke’s art piece remained perfect, momentarily distracting Lexa from her disorientation. It was good to know this was her own kitchen she had woken up in. Right. Okay. She had this under control. This was her home. This was Clarke’s art she had watched be built up. This was where she was supposed to be.

Something dropping to the floor brought Lexa’s attention to the doorway. It was just Clarke, mouth hanging open. Lexa glanced down at what had been dropped. A now shattered mug. Abby wasn’t going to be very happy about that, Lexa absently noted.

Clarke slowly stepped to the side, hand feeling behind her for the wall to guide her the two feet she needed. She shuffled to the counter, hand flailing behind her until she grasped what she was looking for. In the same instance, Clarke whipped a knife defensively in front of her, held in both hands.

“Who the hell are you?”

Lexa blinked, looking behind her. Oh. Oh! Right. The living could see her now. She pushed herself off the table, throwing her hands up in surrender.

“Lexa,” she replied honestly, “I’m here to rescue you.”

Clarke made a face. Lexa wasn’t sure what for. It was the truth. Whatever reply Clarke had on her tongue, it was cut short. Her eyes widened, going to Lexa’s middle.

Clarke had noticed several things about this strange girl in her kitchen. She had noticed the light waves in her brown hair. She had noticed the green in her eyes. She had noticed the weird nightgown. What she had failed to notice until now was the large blood stain over the girl’s chest.

“Oh my God! Are you okay?”

Lexa’s brows furrowed, following Clarke’s gaze. Her alarm voiced itself in her mirroring Clarke’s expression. Was this a side-effect of crossing? Lexa threw a hand over her chest, covering the blood splotch, trying to feel for the wound. It was sticky, implying whatever had caused the wound was recent enough. She felt a dip, but nothing really hurt. No pain, yet her fingers definitely came away red.

Clarke was over in the next instant, taking a look for herself. It had to of been a recent wound. The stain had grown, and Lexa’s hands were red. The size of the stain implied the wound was deep, and needed immediate attention. They needed to get immediate pressure on it. Her hands halted at the nightgown’s buttons.

“I got some medical experience—my mom’s taught me—I just gotta know how bad this is, and I’ll get you to a real doctor right away,” she tried.

Lexa’s eyes went wide, something in her mind clicking, “No. No doctors.” She started stepping backwards, away from Clarke. She could feel her hands shaking at the thought, her breathing increasing in rhythm.

“Alright! Alright, okay! No doctors,” Clarke reassured, “But at least let me look at that. You can’t just leave it.”

Lexa gave a small nod, part of her registering the importance as the rest tried to make sense of all this. She wasn’t sure if she could die from blood loss. She hadn’t even been aware she had blood to begin with. She supposed it made sense. Ontari had said she could kill her. It wouldn’t really be possible unless Lexa was as close to human as she could be. Bleeding was part of that.

“Great, okay. Just, um, here, sit--” Clarke looped her foot around one of the chairs, dragging it over to them, “--right here, and I’ll be right back. Keep pressure on it, if you can. Uh, press here, too,” she pinched her own shoulder, presumably where an artery was.

Lexa felt her hand pressing to her chest obediently before she registered her compliance. It didn’t hurt. She could feel her hand against herself, but she didn't feel anything to indicate there was something painful there. She slowly shifted into the seat, her head trying to wrap around that fact. Clarke ran off, in the direction of the washroom Lexa was certain.

There was something completely jarring about facing one’s mortality when they had spent the last who knows how long being immortal. Getting used to a new body was one thing. Learning the limitations was a whole different thing. Her other hand came up, pinching down against the artery Clarke had demonstrated. She blinked repeatedly, breath coming in short bursts. Was she dying already? Really? Was this what other mortals felt like, facing death? A clawing need to survive, yet knowing, ultimately, they were helpless to defy fate?

“Lexa.”

Her head snapped up, Titus standing before her. She had so many questions, head swimming, mouth trying to form the words. She didn’t know where to start, what the priority was. Luckily, she didn’t to. Titus held his hand up, staying her from trying.

“Refrain from speaking. Clarke will return soon. She can not see me, and you speaking to seemingly yourself is not ideal at the moment. You will survive, Lexa. Your wound will heal quickly. I did not realise you had a death wound. I apologise for this. What you must know, and listen to me well, Lexa, is you can not tell her you are Returned. Aside from being taboo, it will upset the balance.”

“Okay! I’m back!” Clarke declared, throwing a medical kit on the table. Lexa jumped, her attention briefly moving from Titus to Clarke, who was stretching a pair of gloves over hands.

“Lexa. If she wants nothing to do with you, you can not do what you came here for. You must get close,” Titus continued, words rushing out in earnest now, “You will. In every life, despite every odd, I have seen it. I can not help you, neither can Marcus. Make the most of what time you have. Tell her of where you came from, and it is over.”

Lexa gave the subtlest of nods, eyes flicking to Titus. It seemed a weak argument, but if there was even a chance it ended with Clarke being on her own, she would refrain from begin honest. Clarke's safety was, after all, the objective. Nothing else.

“I need to um, I’m going to open your....” Clarke motioned awkwardly to the night gown. Who wore these anymore? And ones this intricate at that? Where do you even  _get_ these?

“Okay,” Lexa said, removing her hand from over the wound.

“Okay,” Clarke repeated, very obviously mentally psyching herself up. She may be trained in medicine, but she was by no means an actual doctor. She knew enough to be useful, though.

Clarke's face heated as she unbuttoned Lexa, from the high collar to low enough she’d be able to do what she needed. Pulling the kit from the table and placing it on the floor near her, Clarke set to work.

Lexa was focused on Titus, still instructing her, “You do not have forever. Ontari has given you three days to get your bearings. She believes it will make things 'fun.' I have done what I can for you. I have spoken with a mortal named Anya. She will explain what I can not. When you can, go to the address eighteen twenty-two Bowman Street. It is close. She’s waiting for you.”

“Do you remember what happened? Anything?” Clarke pulled Lexa away, looking down at where Clarke was gently cleaning her wound. A large gash, the skin around bright red. Lexa had the distinct feeling this should hurt. But for her there was just the feeling of her heart jumping every time Clarke’s hand made contact with her skin.

Lexa frowned, trying to remember anything at all, “No. I don’t even know how I got here.”

Clarke looked up, eyes searching. Was this girl still in shock? Or was there head injury to accommodate this wound? The wound, Clarke was very certain, was made by a knife. A stabbing, then.

“What about a name? Do you remember yours?” Clarke asked, her gaze returning to the gash. It was a lot smaller than she would expect for something that had left that large of a stain. In fact, it didn’t look anywhere near as fatal as the blood would have her think. It looked more like a cut than a stab, now that she thought about it. It didn't add up, in her unprofessional medical opinion.

Clarke pulled out the Steri-Strips, not wanting to try real stitching without any proper medical equipment. It wasn’t an ideal situation, all things considered, but it was what they had available.

“Lexa,” Lexa replied as she looked around. A glass. Cutlery. Window panes. Eventually, her eyes settling on Clarke’s forest diorama, “Lexa Woods.”

“Lexa,” Clarke repeated with a nod, eyes glued to the cut as her hands worked the strips, “Well, I’m Clarke. Is Lexa short for anything?”

“No.” Not that she could remember, anyways, “I, I live around here. I think. Bowman Street.”

“Bowman? It’s only a few streets down. I can drive you there. I don’t think you should walk anywhere.”

“Eighteen twenty-two. That’s the house number, I’m sure. Anya. I remember Anya. She’s there, and I need to see her,” Lexa met Titus’ eyes. This was all for his benefit, to confirm the information. He nodded, satisfied.

“Good luck, Lexa,” Titus said quietly. He tried to give her a smile, but it did not quite reach. There was no such thing as luck. Only Fate, and the twisting turns of whatever Fate wished. He faded away, sinking feeling evident in his face. This was, after all, fated to end unhappily. Even if Lexa managed to keep Clarke alive until the mess with Fate was cleared, Lexa wouldn’t be staying for much longer there after.

Clarke pulled away, hands red, pleased enough with her work, “Alright. We’ll get you to Anya. That should be good enough for now.” She got up, throwing the bloodied gloves into the garbage, “You handle pain really well.”

“I don’t feel it,” Lexa replied before she could stop herself.

Clarke turned, having now moved to the sink, eyebrows raised. She didn’t think it was the shock overriding Lexa’s brain anymore. She wasn’t showing any signs of it. Clarke tilted her head, “Like, at all? Ever?”

“I know it’s supposed to be there.”

“Did you bite your tongue a lot? As a baby, I mean.”

“Why?”

“It’s just the first sign of congenital analgesia. I was wondering if you maybe had that. It’s none of my business, I guess. I’m sorry.”

Lexa nodded, though she didn’t quite understand. She did her nightgown back up, the motions second nature despite having not done this for over one hundred years.

“There’s nothing to apologise for,” Lexa said as she slid off the chair, “I should thank you. Could I meet you again? Tomorrow, maybe?”

Clarke paused, shutting the sink off. She finally took a good look at Lexa as she wiped her hands dry on a nearby towel. The girl had to of been around her age, maybe a few years older. High cheekbones, a high forehead, strong jawline, a little scar over her lip on the right. Lexa was beautiful, in every sense of the word, Clarke realised. Even if she was dressed like some sort of pioneer grandma.

There was, however, something to be said for a girl who showed up in her kitchen bloody. There was a good chance Lexa was running from someone, and becoming associated would make Clarke a target as well. On the other hand, Lexa may have also just been an unfortunate casualty in a hit-and-run.

“Um, yeah. Yeah, sure. Okay. What did you want to do?”

“Breakfast,” Lexa said a little too quickly. Should she have pretended to give it some thought? Any second away from Clarke was a second Ontari could strike. Even if she had given a three day grace period, Lexa had no reason to believe her.

Clarke blinked, “I have school tomorrow.”

Right. School. That mortal thing. Lexa’s eyes fluttered rapidly as her brows pulled together, chagrined that she had missed something so obvious. She’d seen Clarke’s schedule for the last five months, at least. She should have known.

“Yes, of course. Could I see you after school, then? Sorry- I don’t go to school. I forget others do.”

“Are you home-schooled?” This was getting mighty suspicious for Clarke’s tastes. Stabbings, presumably no home, and now not registered for school...

“Yes.” It was a lie, but it was all Lexa had. Why was building a fake life so hard?

Clarke nodded, seemingly satisfied. She supposed that made Anya from earlier was her guardian, then. A better picture, if maybe not the correct one.

“I guess you’re pretty free, then.”

“I believe so.”

“Right then. I’ll, uh, get you to, Anya’s, was it?”

The car ride was the most surreal part of all this for Lexa. A motorised vehicle. Another infernal witchcraft mortal creation. But one that Lexa found she could grow to love, as with the most of the upgrades presented in her former home. Whatever kind of music Clarke was playing, it was something Lexa was going to deem an acquired taste. Not that it mattered much. Lexa was captivated by the houses and trees blurring by. Technology truly had changed drastically.

“So, what’s with the get-up?”

Lexa turned to face Clarke, “What do you mean?”

Clarke scoffed, hesitant smile wondering if it should break through, “Your nightgown, I guess? No one wears those anymore. Not even to bed, I’m pretty sure.”

Lexa glanced down at her garb, covering her straight down to the ankles, toes visible just under. What had Titus said? She had a death wound? This must have been what she died in. She tilted her head, miffed that she hadn’t had the foresight to die in shoes. Regardless, she couldn’t tell Clarke the truth.

“Research. For homework. I’m studying the eighteen hundreds.” The trick to a good lie was to never give too information. Never act like there was anything more to the story than what could be automatically filled in by the listener. 

“Really? That’s weird. Eighteen hundreds? What grade are you in?”

“Twelfth.”

“Oh! Hey, me too. We’re not touching that at all, though. Is the home-school curriculum different? How does it even work?”

“Like normal school. But at home.” Hopefully.

The car pulled to a stop, in front of the house both girls presumed to be Anya’s. It looked ridiculously spacious and large, even from the outside. Fenced and gated, the home didn’t look all too inviting. But it was where Lexa was going to get her answers, apparently.

“This is your place? Seriously?”

“Yes. Anya’s, um, over-the-top.” Internally, Lexa winced. She hoped Anya wasn’t an old lady, enjoying her retirement. An over-the-top ninety-three year old. Good one, Lexa.

“I guess so. Is she home? I should talk to her.”

The mental sirens in Lexa’s head were going off, greatly reducing her ability to form a proper excuse to keep Clarke in the car. Before Lexa could form any sort of argument, Clarke had already parked and pulled the keys from her car.

“Well, I guess we’ll find out.” She exited, and Lexa had no choice but to follow.

The gate opened with no issue. The two girls followed the paved path up to the front door. Lexa just hoped Anya could pull a convincing bluff off. Clarke knocked, waiting patiently. Lexa, if she could, would be sweating nervously. Alas, she had to settle for fidgeting with her nightgown.

Some seconds later, the door swung open. A broody, glaring face with high cheek bones and dirty blonde hair looked down at them. Lexa’s eyes went wide, immediately reconsigning her.

Human One.

Anya was Human One.

“The hell do you want?” Anya asked, looking at Clarke.

Clarke, to her credit, only blinked at the gruff greeting.

Lexa quickly jumped in, hoping to set up the pretence before any conflicting stories made their way out, “Hi, Anya. I got lost, sorry. Clarke helped me get home.”

It was then Anya seemed to acknowledge Lexa was even there at all. She glanced at Lexa’s outfit, to her face. She could put two and two together.

“Uh-huh,” Anya looked her up and down once more time, “You’re late. Get to the kitchen. Dinner’s ready.” She moved to the side, leaving enough room for Lexa slip by.

Lexa nodded, starting and then halting. She turned to Clarke, offering her hand, “Thank you, Clarke. For everything.”

Clarke nodded, taking Lexa’s hand in turn with a smile, “No problem. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Lexa smiled back, letting the handshake go on for maybe a little longer than necessary, “Yeah. See you.” And she slipped inside.

Lexa lingered nearby, catching wind of Clarke explaining Anya should really take her to hospital, maybe call the authorities. Lexa sighed, moving to the kitchen. She was fairly certain Anya would know what to do about that.

The kitchen was as impressive as the outside had looked. Everything was highly modern, built to state of the art design. There was no dinner ready, though. Lexa didn’t mind. She didn’t particularly feel hungry. She wasn’t even sure if she could. Either way, Lexa was left to just gawk at the furnishings.

Anya appeared eventually, murder written all over face.

“Your friend? Not allowed over. Ever.” Anya slid into one of the chairs, motioning for Lexa to do the same across from her, “So, you’re the dead girl?”

“I’m alive now,” Lexa replied, taking a seat.

“Whatever. Listen, ‘cause I’m only saying this once. Your friend asks what you did today, we went straight to the doc. You don’t remember what happened, but they’ve cleared you. There’s some clothes for you upstairs, third door on the left. Don't give me that look. Get the hell outta those rags, Heart-Eyes. No one's gonna wanna be anywhere near you with that thing draping over you." Anya paused, daring Lexa to defy her. When no argument was given, she continued, " If she asks about you and me? You can be my niece. Your parents died in a car accident when you were young. I've been taking care of you ever since. No one’s gonna buy the real story.”

“What’s the real story?”

“You’re my grandmother. With some eight great’s thrown in there.”

Lexa choked, “ _What?_ ”

“Said I wasn’t repeating myself. C’mon, grandma. Get the fuck upstairs and change. We have alot to go over, and I got work in the morning.”


End file.
